Death in The Paternal House by Kianoush Ayari is not merely a simple death—it is a familial crime so heinous and brutal that no one dares to speak of or reveal it for years.
This curse, this unholy act, clings to the perpetrators and casts a shadow over the fate of every family member, to the extent that even generations later, there is no escaping it. The terrifying atmosphere of the basement, where the audience is aware a girl was murdered and buried by her own father and brother, gains a presence of its own—so much so that even its eventual destruction leads to unforeseen events.
In About Elly, Asghar Farhadi’s masterpiece, the central theme is “disappearance”—a disappearance that, most likely, ends in death. A death never directly shown or confirmed, yet from the beginning of the film’s second act, it looms over every character and alters all their fates. The rest of the film builds upon this one absence. Gradually, the characters reveal their true selves, and in the face of crisis, some go so far as to trample even the most basic moral principles, blaming everything on the dead. It’s a reprehensible habit that has, notably, become common in recent public events. In the midst of this, only Sepideh (played by Golshifteh Farahani) does everything she can to defend the reputation of a friend—whose full name she doesn’t even really know—to stop those around her from constructing false narratives to ease their own guilt.
In the final scenes of Hiva, a few surviving Iranian soldiers trapped in a trench spend their last moments exhausted, wounded, and parched. Abbas Mirab (played by Farhad Ghaemian), who does logistical work at the front with his pickup truck, attempts to evacuate a truckload of wounded soldiers. But just before getting behind the wheel, a bomb hits, and the wounded are blown to dust. The psychological shock from the tragedy stuns Abbas; amid the chaos of war, he stares into space and softly hums the eternal songs of his homeland—until he is completely detached from his surroundings and sinks into an internal world.
Rahim (Jamshid Hashempour), on the verge of physical collapse, sees Abbas and pleads for help. After calling to him several times, Abbas snaps out of his trance and embraces Rahim:
“Janova qurban, Rahim… ne olub?!”
(“My life for you, Rahim… what happened?!”)
But at that very moment, gunshots ring out, and Abbas is hit by a flurry of bullets. The slow-motion sequence of Mirab being shot, interwoven with his earlier singing, transforms his death into a mystical, whirling dance in the heart of battle—a transcendent martyrdom that sets him apart.
